


Meant To Stay Hid

by Guccichoochie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Curse Breaking, Curses, Dark Magic, Death Eaters, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Good Death Eaters, Good Regulus Black, Gryffindor, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hogwarts Second Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hogwarts Third Year, Horcrux Creation, Horcrux Destruction, Horcruxes, Hufflepuff, Pureblood Harry Potter, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw & Slytherin Inter-House Friendships, Ravenclaw/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Feels, Sad Ending, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slytherin, Young Death Eaters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guccichoochie/pseuds/Guccichoochie
Summary: In which an unforgiving curse placed upon her ancestors results in Sanayah joining Hogwarts knowing that she will forget all knowledge of blood status and magic when she turns seventeen. . .. . . with time running out and no comprehension of magic herself, Sanayah goes on a journey meeting three best friends and crossing paths with an equally as troubled boy, with the unforgiving curse of a family who will not forget him.[Years 1-7][Slow burn]𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐃©guccichoochie, 2021
Relationships: Regulus Black/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer in the chapter notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE WIZARDING WORLD and original HARRY POTTER characters belong to the original author - I would strongly recommend watching Contrapoints YouTube video titled 'JK Rowling' in order to educate yourself on her transphobic tweets, essays and comments - which I do not support! 
> 
> That being said, THE PLOT and the arcs of each character belong to me! This story will eventually include MATURE THEMES - further trigger/content warnings will be added at the beginning of the chapters if needed! 
> 
> Any diversion from Canon is intended, however this story is incredibly Canon compliant so please let me know if any mistakes are made so I can correct them!
> 
> I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! -R x

MURKY SHADOWS TRICKLE across the frayed carpet and into the vignette, caliginous corners of the living room— and stood amongst the darkness, adorned in billowing cloaks and clutching a silvery walking stick, is a man who is not her brother. 

"You aren't my brother," she states, hands pressed against the backing of a patchwork sofa. 

"Indeed," the baritone of his voice is calm and somewhat comforting, "I'm afraid that your brother is forgetting."

"Forgetting?" She asks— it's a reasonable question, although most would start with 'who on earth are you?!'. . . and the man seems aware of her confusion as he explains:

"I am Professor Dumbledore, headmaster at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry— the very school that your elder brother just graduated from," he leans forward on his walking stick, "however, it is his seventeenth birthday, and so he is about to forget." 

Her elder brother is Dalil Samaha, and it is indeed his birthday— he was supposed to come back and share the cake they made together. 

". . . he will come back?" She asks, fingers digging into the rough fabric. He promised that he would come back. 

Professor Dumbledore shakes his head, "perhaps, Sanayah, you would like to visit the Manor along with me?" 

She is hesitant, at first, but Dalil has spoken highly of his teachers in the past— so she steps forward from where she had been hiding and nods. 

It is late July, and there is a thick heat that envelopes them as they stand on the jagged asphalt outside of the flat. 

"Hold onto my cane, Miss Samaha— this will take two ticks of timeturner," he says, bizarrely, as he peers down at her through half moon spectacles that reflect the blinking light of a lamppost in the distance. 

As soon as she does so, a tight force tugs at the back of her naval, and the sensation of her hair and skin being sucked upwards creeps over her. 

She almost feels like shouting, or screaming, but it is over as soon as it has began, leaving her stomach churning as she gains her bearings of a new location. 

"Apparation," the professor tells her, as if it gives her any clue as to what just happened. 

Sanayah lessens her grip on the cane and straightens up— they are in a woodland, damp and muddy, and through a clearing of the evergreen trees she spots the spires of an old manor house that peak upwards, pointing towards a full moon. 

"In there?" She implores, looking up at the wizard. 

Together, they make their way through the thickened blackberry bushes, thorny brambles scratching at her ankles, and reach moss covered gates. 

Dumbledore uses his cane, although it takes him great might, to scrape at it, which reveals the stone carvings etched upon it. 

"Samaha Manor," he rasps, blinking. 

The bricks of the Manor have aged, chipped and grey with time, and clad with branches of ivy. She walks past the entrance, barely registering that the door creaked open without them having to knock— as if the Manor had been awaiting their arrival. 

It is equally leaden as it is grand— Sanayah is enthralled by the gramarye of the hallways, which are adorned with richly coloured tapestries, glass cabinets, and emerald chandeliers that glisten like daggers rather than diamonds. 

So enthralled, in fact, that she hadn't noticed her tight grip on the professors fingers rather than his cane— he squeezes her back reassuringly, as she spots the unforgiving slashes that had pierced through the carpets below their feet.

"I believe that what you seek is upstairs," he gestures towards the staircase, of which the tears trail into. 

Met by another hallway, followed swiftly by Dumbledore, Sanayah enters the one room that is solely lit. 

It appeared to be decorated like it belonged to a teenage boy, the only sign of age being the thin layer of dust that covered the elaborate spruce furniture.

Whilst Dumbledore inspects the posters of 'Quidditch' teams and rock bands aptly named 'Hallowed Ghosts', the young girl sets her eyes upon a velvety box enshrined with her brothers name— the curvature of each letter golden and intricate. 

The contents of the box were equally as perplexing—photographs of Dalil, but with others— in robes, in what appeared to be a castle, or in a bedroom, or in a pub. . . and all of them were moving.

Then there was old uniform, that Dalil must of long outgrown, but it had been his. . . it must of been, it was labelled with his name. . . 

There were bundles of textbooks, parchment littered with notes, sweet wrappers, vials of shimmering liquids, and what appeared to be a wand, snapped in half. . . 

Sanayah picked the wand up and slotted the pieces back together before letting them fall back amongst the belongings.

Her face was pale and laced with sadness as she stammered, "my parents?" 

Indeed, one of the photographs had captured two figures that emulated the same warmth that Dalil did— at what appeared to be his first day of school. 

"I am sorry, Miss Samaha— truly." Dumbledore says, sitting down on the bed. 

She feels like telling him not to— it feels like he's disturbing the room, altering the way that Dalil had left it. 

"Can you read this, please?" She asks instead, extending a thick brown letter towards the wizard. 

He adjusts his spectacles, clears his throat, and begins: 

"To whom it may concern, my name is Dalil Samaha. At the time of writing, I am the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Samaha. . ." 

His breathing was jagged, yet he continued:

"If you are reading this, it shall mean that I have succumbed to the same unforgiving fate as my predecessors— a cruel curse struck centuries ago in spite of our household. A curse that means that each member forgets their blood status alongside all memory of the wizarding world when they come of age. . . enclosed is all of the information that I attempted to gather during my educational years." 

Her ebony hair fell past her shoulders as she looked down at the bundles of leather bound books and loose parchment, scattered across the bed in a hectic flurry. 

"I can only wish that perhaps, one day, the curse will be broken, and that perhaps, one day, I will return to the normality that I have been deprived of, alongside the honourable Samaha's that still stand."

Dumbledore then places the letter back inside of the box, pausing briefly before looking back up at her, his eyes a milky blue that almost feel as though they can read your mind. 

"Miss Samaha, although this is not the introduction to the wizarding world that I would hope for any young witch, you too have magical blood— you can attend Hogwarts, if you wish to." 

"Will I be able to help Dalil?" She asks— it's a reasonable question, although most would ask 'where else would I even be able to go?!'.

Dumbledore does not reply, but this only affirms Sanayah's decision. Led back to the flat, he insists that he will have a neighbour keep a watchful eye until term begins. 

The radio crackles as it springs to life, prickling at her ears as it informs her that the hours have crept into the early morning. 

Silky marzipan and smooth honey— although artificial, and shop bought— are so delightful that it makes the absense of company eerie, especially after she blows the candles out for him. 

"I hope you had a happy birthday, Dalil," she whispers, wondering where he might be, "don't worry— I still remember you."


	2. The Chronicles of Kreacher

Sanayah Samaha and the Chronicles of Kreacher

BOOK ONE — YEAR ONE


	3. i. chapter one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! -R x

BEING COOPED UP indoors during the remaining sweltering days of summer was doing Sanayah no good– she was plagued by the absense of Dalil, wanting more than anything to visit the Manor and delve back in to his apparent magical past. 

Before his abrupt departure, Dumbledore had reassured Sanayah that Mrs Figg, a batty old witch who smelled of dried tea leaves, would look after her– but this was also doing her no good, as she found that the neighbours plump cat had a nack for keeping a closer watchful eye than Mrs Figg did. 

It was only a matter of time before she began feeling somewhat reckless, on edge and intrigued– which is when she bit the bullet and crept into Mrs Figg's flat, looking for anything that was seemingly magic. 

And magic she found– floating teapots, moving pictures within a newspaper, and a collection of old wands, splayed across the sofa that Mrs Figg was dozing on. 

Whilst the witch, with her mouth agape and emitting loud snores, was definately asleep, something else was definately not– Sanayah could hear a low growling pur from across the room. . . the podgy cat was crawling its way toward her, stretching one mangled paw in front of the other, prepared to pounce on the intruder. 

As long as it didn't wake up its owner, who was bound to give her a keen telling off, Sanayah was sure that everything would be fine.

Slowly but surely, she edged towards the fireplace, eager to inspect one last magical thing before she made her exit. Next to the fireplace was a large pot of powder, simply labelled 'Floo', and Sanayah took a handful, wondering if it was used to ignite a flame. 

Yet, slowly but surely, the feline was edging towards her– cornering her into the fireplace, hissing and meowing as if its life depended on it. 

All she needed to do was get the cat to stay still– and, as if by magic, the cat suddenly froze in place and fell to the floor, paws rigid as they pointed up at the yellow lightbulb. 

"Get up," she hissed through gritted teeth, dropping her handful of powder in shock as the cat did no such thing, "I just wanted to go to Samaha Manor!" 

Then, as if by another stroke of wicked luck, she felt herself tumbling through the chimney, blood rushing to each of her limbs as they flailed about frantically, before falling to a heap at a different fireplace entirely– this one, much older, and much larger. 

It became clear to Sanayah that the task at hand was much more complex than originally anticipated– she had arrived at Samaha Manor, through performing some sort of magic. . . but she had no clue what, or how. 

Still, she was where she had longed to be since Dumbledore had first brought her here– less afraid this time, as daylight flooded in and bleached each wall. She rushed towards Dalil's old room, and found herself rummaging through it all once more. 

The once young Dalil had enclosed a vast amount of notes into the velvet box, but they were all phrased in what appeared to be magical terms or in Latin, a language that the predominantly Arabic writing girl had no recollection of.

Which meant that she had no clue what it would be like to attend Hogwarts come September– a great thing to add to her current list: 

1\. No clue how magic works  
2\. No clue how to get to school  
3\. No clue what school would be like  
4\. No clue how to read or write  
5\. No clue how to break the curse  
6\. No clue how to find Dalil 

Feeling rather helpless, she resorted to treading the abandoned hallways of the manor, careful not to disturb it.

It was fascinating, and like a home she could only dream of– a grand dining room that could seat fifty odd people, a ballroom that could fit plenty more, a trophy room adorned with plaques or shiny medallions, and old botanical gardens facing a sprawling countryside view. . . having only accomplished a few of many rooms, she soon gave up on her futile endeavor to explore it. 

"Miss Samaha!" A shrill, prude voice echoed through the Manor and out into the garden that Sanayah had been laying in. 

"Er– yes?" She called back, instantly regretting having ever left her own flat. 

Mrs Figg came marching out, a vein popping out of her forehead, "foolish girl! You have no understanding of the Muggle world, let alone magical– do you even know what day it is tomorrow?!" 

"A weekday?" She replied, shoulders turning up into a shrug. 

"It will be the first of September," the women breathed, "I was supposed to take you shopping for your things! But no can do, I'm afraid– you'll have to make do with my items–" 

"No!" Sanayah called back, partly feeling guilty as she caught up to the old lady, "I'll take Dalil's things– he wanted me to have them." 

Mrs Figg raised a concerned brow, but allowed Sanayah to take the velvet box nonetheless– after all, it was Dalil's, and her and Dalil shared everything. 

Now more on edge than ever, she attempted pushing Mrs Figg into sparing details of Hogwarts, although she no longer had the luck that she had seemed to have that morning.

Instead, the rest of the night was spent drinking tea and eating slices of cake that she was certain was mouldy.

Thankfully, the next day came into fruition, and her departure to Hogwarts crept closer and closer– Mrs Figg stated that she had 'business to attend to', bidding Sanayah farewell at Kings Cross Station. 

Without a clue where she actually had to go, she found herself aimlessly wandering past each tall brick wall belonging to different platforms, hoping that the other wizard would pop out of nowhere again to guide her.

She spent a long while amongst the hustle and bustle of nine to five workers, until she gave up.

It was raining outside, signalling the end of summer, and she had forgotten to pack a coat. 

Not wanting to soak any of the important things, she crouched down to the ground and wrapped the box in her favourite cardigan before tying the arms around her waist so that she couldn't misplace it by accident.

Then, she began walking home.

Asides from hypothermia, Sanayah knew that the rougher parts of London would bring some nasty surprises, especially amongst the alleyway shortcuts.

She brought her right hand up and out, prepared to hide her face if someone lurked around the corner– but instead, she was met by a horrific screeching sound, accompanied by bright headlights that stopped merely inches from her bewildered face.

Past the downpour, all Sanayah could see was a bright purple obstacle, with the sound of cluttering and chattering alluding her.

A few steps was all that it took for Sanayah to realise that she was, in fact, looking at a triple-decker bus.

"Hello? Hello? Ain't got all day! Hello?"

A plump women with pin curls leant out of the bus and into the rain, squinting her eyes at the small girl, who stood awkwardly beside the bus that towered over her.

"Hi."

"Poor sod, you look cold as a cucumber! Come on then, lovie, where are you headed?" The women beckoned her onto the bus.

". . . home?"

"Right on then. Come on then, come on! On you get!"

Needless to say, a mixture of questions surged through Sanayahs head, but the weather wasn't exactly on her side, and so she took the woman's offering of shelter, even if it would only be breif.

The interior of the bus was like any other– if it were to be hit by a hurricane. Seats adorned with worn cushions were scattered around the bottom floor of the bus, and looked as if they had been wrecklessly thrown in without a second thought.

Bizarrely, there were also small ornamental chandeliers, although in mangled knots.

Deprived of any proper explanations from Professor Dumbledore and Mrs Figg, Sanayah decided to try her luck with this new women, who seemed much more approachable. 

"Excuse me, Miss," Sanayah said, as the women placed a whistle to her lips, "what exactly is this thing? And why am I being let on, if I wasn't at a bus stop?"

"Aw, bless you, love! You must of summoned us on accident. Allow me to explain– this is the Knight Bus, a service for the stranded witch or wizard. A form of transport that takes you wherever you desire, which, by the looks of things. . . isn't Hogwarts."

The women peered down through her glasses and at Sanayahs clothing– she was dressed in her brothers old uniform, which bundled up at her soaked feet.

"I did desire to go there," Sanayah chipped in quickly, "couldn't find the train, though. So I'm going back home–"

"–HA! Get a load of this, Ernie!" The women snorted from laughter, "poor girl, I just said that we can take you wherever you desire. If Hogwarts is your destination, then so be it!"

Sanayah shrugged and then gently said, "If it isn't much trouble, Hogwarts would be okay."

With a firm nod, the woman caught her breath and then blew the whistle before yelling, "HOGSMEADE!"

"NEXT STOP– HOGSMEADE!" 

Sanayah assumed that this voice belonged to Ernie, who she also assumed to be driving the Knight Bus.

"I'd hold tight if I were you, poppet," the women quickly winked at her, taking a seat of her own after pushing Sanayah into one of the shaking chairs.

Sanayah felt equally as bewildered as before, as the bus suddenly hurtled through the streets of London manically, whilst somehow avoiding the tourists that littered the streets and the taxis that dotted the roads.

"Did he just– eek! Did he just say Hogsmeade? I need to go to Hogwarts, that's what the letter says–"

"–can't take you directly to Dumbledore's front door step, cupcake," the women chortled, "you don't seem to know much, do you, lovie? I mean. . . that uniform. . . did you scrape it out of the lost and found bin?"

Sanayah shook her head, "These are my brothers old robes– I didn't have any uniform of my own."

"Makes a lot more sense," the women nodded, whilst filing her nails, "Hogsmeade is the little village close by to the school. Ah, look, we're here now!"

Having arrived at the destination so quickly, Sanayah was rather doubtful at the woman's claim, but the windows to the bus revealed that they had indeed arrived at a quaint little village. 

"Thanks for the lift," Sanayah muttered, wobbling slightly as she stood up.

"Anytime, poppet. Well, hopefully not, actually– to get to school next time, all you have to do is run between platforms nine and ten."

"Run? In between?" Sanayah asked, as the lady handed the bags, still wrapped in a soggy cardigan, back to her.

"No hesitation," Ernie affirmed, his voice booming so that the duo could hear him over the sound of the chugging engine.

"That'll be eleven Sickles, poppet!"

Sanayah blinked, "sickles?"

"Eleven of them."

"Don't have eleven," Sanayah gulped, "or any, for that matter. . . what is a sickle?"

"Merlins beard," the women gasped, "you poor little lamb, you poor little– I'll let you off, poppet, but only because you're such a–"

"–poor little lamb," Sanayah finished for her, the belittling almost as sickening as the journey had been, "thank you, Miss."

"Bye bye! And good luck!" The woman called, waving her off of the bus frantically. She must of thought that Sanayah couldn't hear her, because she muttered under her breath, "Merlin knows you'll need it."

With that, Sanayah stepped off of the Knight Bus and watched as it zipped back away and into the countryside. It was now that she could fully take in the landscape, which was vast and hugely contrasted to the concrete jungle that she had been brought up in.

A small train station at the bottom of the hill caught her attention, and Sanayah assumed that it would be the best direction to head. Maybe if she got lost again, the Knight Bus would return– only the woman hadn't told her what action she had to do to alert them.

In fact, the woman hadn't really told her much at all, only making Sanayah worried that she looked like some sort of abandoned puppy dog with a liking for baggy, ill-fitting clothes.

With each heavy stride down the hill, her shoes scuffed against the ground and occasionally got caught up in the baggy material of the trousers, meaning that she stumbled and tripped over herself a few times.

She didn't seem to mind though– the gentle birdsong, fresh air and greenery distracted her from the cuts on the palms of her hands, until the train that she was supposed to of caught came to a halt in the distance.

It didn't take long before students were pushing and shoving one another to gather on the platform.  
All of them were wearing uniform and thick black robes, aside from some older students who were wearing their own clothes.

None of them were carrying bags, especially bags wrapped in soggy cardigans, which became more apparent as Sanayah weaved her way through the crowd, desperately hoping that she would blend in.

"FIRS' YEARS! ALL THE FIRS' YEARS THIS WAY!"

The crowd began to congregate into smaller chunks of babbling students, with the dinkiest of the lot heading in the direction of the sonorous sound.

"Righ' then, you lot– welcome, welcome, gather round! I'm Smithers, gamekeeper at Hogwarts, and I'll be taking you on these very boats," he patted the wooden carvings of one of them, making the water surrounding it ripple as the boat bobbed up and down.

The first years were instructed to sit in the boats and keep their hands and feet inside at all times– which Smithers warned was of upmost importance, because a tentacle could pull them in at any time.

"Sir! Sir! There's a second year on our boat!" One of the boys in Sanayah's boat, with slick blond hair and a pug-like nose, complained. 

"Am not," Sanayah quickly defended herself.

"Am too! You're in blue. You've already been sorted, you're a Ravenclaw!"

Sanayah furrowed her brows, not too sure what magical nonsense this boy was spewing.

"Oi!" Smithers deep voice cut through the excited hum of the first years, drawing all attention to the girl in question, "no funny business! Off with the others, scram."

Sanayah gulped, "I'm not a second year, Sir, I'm a first– these are my–"

"Gosh," the boy huffed, "can't even understand you."

She felt like sticking a hand out and letting the tentacle drag her into the inky waters there and then.

Smithers, with a scruffy beard and muddy clothing, looked just as intimidating at the boy, and she had no clue how to explain herself without drawing more attention.

"I understand her," a voice from another boat said, just as quietly as Sanayah had spoken. Her cheeks felt hot and flushed, so she didn't bother to turn to see who it was– instead, her eyes implored Smithers, and she finished:

"I'm a first year, Sir. Just wearing old uniform."

Then, she sat down, rather determined to avoid the fixed stares of the other kids.

"Righ' then, very well," Smithers nodded gruffly, "laddie, what's your name?"

"Parkinson," the blond-haired boy replied, his chin tilted upwards.

"Well, Parkinson, I suggest you pack it in, son," The gamekeeper boomed back, a hint of a chuckle wavering through the boats and towards them. 

As much as the group of boys in another boat seemed to enjoy the look of horror etched upon Parkinson's face, Sanayah didn't feel like gloating– she stood out like a sore thumb just as much as he did.

He shot dirty looks in her direction until the little boats rocked into a clearing further up the lake, making her glad to finally get away from him as they all trudged up the steep hill.

It was then that Sanayah realised that the school was actually a grand castle. She looked around to see if anyone else's jaws had hit the floor, and then back up, her eyes widening and trying to take it all in at once.

The thick bushes of ivy at the feet of the castle walls climbed upwards, digging into the chestnut stone before slowly melting into it. 

Past the walls were huge archways with intricate cuttings, circular turrets and flickering yellow windows, that made the ravens and owls look like tiny specs as they swooped past it.

"Dope," she whispered– imitating her brother, who didn't exactly have a way with words.

It was so breathtakingly beautiful that Sanayah hadn't even noticed that Smithers had taken her baggage from her as they entered the castle.

The inside of the castle was just as grand, with terracotta stone floors and paintings that seemed to be moving, just like how Dalils photos did.

The first years huddled on a staircase, all of them wide-eyed as they shushed one another, attention on a stern faced lady who wore beautiful green robes and a pointed black hat.

She explained, with tight, pursed lips, that the first years had to be sorted into houses as a part of a traditional Sorting Hat Ceremony– whatever that meant.

She spoke clearly, which meant that Sanayah could understand her, unlike the other kids, who spoke so fast that half of their words were lost on her.

Of course, none of them were speaking to her, but she tried to listen in nonetheless, hoping that someone would be explaining what on earth magic school actually was.

The doors to a grand hall opened as soon as the lady had finished speaking, revealing five long tables that stretched just as far as the lake did.

The first years dawdled behind the lady with the pointed hat, who was now leading them towards the table at the very front of the hall. 

Along the way, Sanayah noticed that candles were hovering above the older students heads, which didn't seem to concern any of them– or the ceiling, which Sanayah thought had been removed, because she could see the night sky above them.

"Abbott, Curtis!"

One of the young kids broke free from the group and made their way to a stall beside the pointed hat lady, who was holding a list in one hand and a scruffy old hat in the other.

Sanayah watched as the hat was placed upon the boys head, sinking far enough to reach his jawline. Then, it wriggled and writhed as a face appeared, before it finally yelled:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

This, of course, was yet another thing that Sanayah found alarming, and she took to seek the expressions of the Professors, who were seated to overlook the other four tables. 

In a tall chair sat the wizard that had once appeared in the flat– he was wearing the half moon spectacles and peering down at the student, who stood up and made his way to one of the tables, filled with students that clapped and cheered loudly– and he was doing the same. 

Clearly, talking hats were just a regular occurance here. 

By the time that her attention turned back to the pointed hat lady, she was calling out, "Black, Regulus!" 

This time, a boy with sleek black hair trundled up to the stall, biting one of his nails as the hat was placed over his head. 

Perhaps he was nervous, because his hands clutched the sides of the stall until the hat announced that he was in Slytherin– then, he looked pleased. 

Sanayah wondered what exactly the hat would say to her. . .

Maybe the hat would spot her blue robes and put her in Ravenclaw in a state of confusion. Maybe the hat would send her home, telling her that she was bonkers for ever believing that she deserved to attend here. Maybe, maybe, maybe. . .

She cleared her throat as her name was eventually called. Knowing that there was only one way to find out, Sanayah sat upon the stall, her eyes being swallowed up by darkness as the hat was placed upon her head.


	4. i. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! -R x

SANAYAH WAS SUSPICIOUS of the hat and its capabilities right away. 

It took reinforcement to settle it upon her head, and even then, the hat was reluctant to speak for a long while, until it finally croaked:

"Another one?"

The raspy voice startled her, causing her to tighten her grip on the stall, her reddened palms digging into the wood as the hat squirmed above her.

"Yes, another one . . ." The hat continued, "another one indeed– it's here in your head, the curse– clearly no Samaha has yet to outwit fate!" 

Periodical whispers sprouted just out of earshot– what were the students all fussing about?

After a few minutes, the whispers were much more furious, and happened in short bursts each time the hat jolted or moved above her.

Sanayah realised that the hat was taking much longer to make a decision about her placement than it had for any of the other first years.

"Alas, the final heiress returns in a bid to succour her brother. . ." 

Sanayah closed her eyes, keeping her mind as blank of a slate as possible. 

". . . I know just what to do with you!" The hats voice grew louder, and then it was no longer whispering, but shouting out to the Great Hall:

"RAVENCLAW!" 

The Sorting Hat was finally plucked from Sanayah's head, revealing to her a table with students adorned in blue, all cheering loudly for her. 

She joined them quickly, and a student much taller than her bent down to her height and informed her, "We timed it! You are the longest Hat Stall in all of Hogwarts' history! Good on you– hopefully you'll get Ravenclaw into the history books for a more decisive reason next time, though!"

"Er– thank you?" Sanayah replied, whilst wondering what exactly had just happened, and what a 'Hat Stall' was– two questions that she asked the older student as they took to their seats.

"You get sorted into a house depending on personality traits, and stuff," the older student flicked a badge that was fastened to his robe, which clearly signified something important, "take me, for example– love painting, group work, solving riddles, and helping the younger students do the same." 

Noticing the worried expression upon her face, the Ravenclaw quickly added, "you'll fit right in, don't you worry. I mean, you had your robes sorted out before you even sat down! Clearly you were wise enough to assume that you were bound to be a Ravenclaw?" 

Sanayah looked down at the hints of sapphire on her robes and shook her head, "these are my brothers– he doesn't need them anymore." 

"A Ravenclaw brother?! What's his name, I probably remember him!" 

She smiled, "Dalil. . . ?" 

Much to her dismay, the older student simply shook his head, facing away as the next first year was called to the stall: 

"Selwyn, Tarquin!"

Only a matter of seconds passed before he, too, was announced as a Ravenclaw. 

"WOOOO! Yes! That's my brother!" He gripped a hold of Sanayah's arm before quickly letting go, clearly ecstatic that his own brother was also in the same house as him. 

Tarquin rushed over to the table and hushed him, "stop, that's well embarrassing, Tahmelapachme!"

Sanayah imagined that Tarquin was blushing, but you couldn't really tell through his complexion– although it did amplify his high cheekbones, bright teeth and emotive eyes.

Tahmelapachme feined shock, clutching his chest as if Tarquin had deeply insulted him, "Do not speak to your Prefect in such a disorderly manner!"

Tarquin shrugged, "I'd like to see you try and dock house points. Term hasn't even started yet– I'm just glad that the ceremony is over for me, and that I wasn't a Hat Stall. . . no offence." 

His brother rolled his eyes, "Gobby little git. Still glad you're a Ravenclaw, though– if you weren't, I was going to chop each of your fingers and toes off... boil them... and then use them as compost for the plants."

Sanayahs eyes widened, half believing the older student. So far, it seemed as though magical people had an appetite for danger– what with hectic bus journeys, monster-filled lakes, candles that floated above their heads as they ate, and hats that could chomp off your head if it wanted to.

"I forgot to say– a Hat Stall is basically when it takes the hat a lot longer to sort someone into a house. You took seven whole minutes. . . Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor, was one of the previous record holders at four and a half."

A magnitude of questions came to mind, but she suppressed them, now worried that witches and wizards would eat her limbs if she didn't stop irritating them.

After the final first years had taken their respective turns to be sorted, the wizard that had visited the flat stood up at a golden podium.

"Firstly, a warm welcome to those beginning their education, and to those that have returned to continue it– Hogwarts is glad to have you all home," the wizard began. His eyes captured a permanent twinkle, and scanned each table as he spoke.

He continued, "secondly, 'Quaerite et invenietis illud'. That is all! Tuck in!"

As the wizard returned to his seat, the once empty tables were suddenly adorned with food. . . but proper food. Compared to the pot noodles that Sanayah was used to at home, the bowls and plates stacked to their brims seemed like a feast fit for a king, and she ate as though the food would disappear if she didn't scoff it down quick enough.

Once she was stacking her plate for the third time, she plucked up the courage to ask the older student a question, "Tahmelapachme, where did the ceiling go?"

Tahmelapachme grinned and shook his head, "it's enchanted to picture the sky– and call me Patch, I prefer that."

"I call him twathead," Tarquin muttered, "you can call him that, if you want."

"No, she can't!" Patch shoved him, albeit gently. Sanayah felt a twang of jealousy– Tarquin was rather lucky to have his brother here, to help him out. Someone that remembered what Hogwarts was like; someone that he could muck around with.

She didn't pry further, especially not as the first years gathered around Patch as he announced that he would escort them back to the 'common room'– Sanayah assumed that this was more magical nonsense that she wouldn't understand, although she did eventually figure out that Patch was a Prefect, which meant that it was his job to make sure others followed the rules.

The gaggle of first years bumbled merrily out of the grand hall, making many twists and turns. Much to Sanayahs dismay, no one stopped to appreciate the prestigious grandeur that the castle held, meaning that she only caught glimpses of each painting or corner as the dimmed lights illuminated them.

"To enter the common room you have to solve a riddle or answer a question– which changes each time, so you have to keep a sharp mind!" Patch informed them, answering to the bronzed knocker and allowing the first years entry. 

The interior of Ravenclaw Tower had a nostalgic ambience that Sanayah couldn't quite place her finger on. 

It was wide and circular, airy and light, with a decadent ceiling as magical as the Grand Hall's had been.

Through each circular window, the vivid russets and golds of the forest foliage were bleached by the icy peaks of the mountains of which they were sprinkled on, and the faint whistle that the mountains brought swept past each ceiling beam, bringing her back to reality as they were led down a winding staircase to the dormitories. 

The four-poster felt as deeply embellished as the velvety tapestries hung on each wall, and as private as each nook and cranny that a book in the common room was tucked into– a new home filled with cracked spines, fresh parchment and gramarye statues of the wizards and witches that called it home in the past. 

Her baggage appeared at the foot of the bed, giving her the opportunity to change into her pyjamas and cosy into the soft duvet, which she practically melted into– as did the sunset, as the burnt orange coated each jagged stone edge in the distance, soon casting darkness over the school grounds. 

Sanayah still had much to learn– but if this is what magic felt like, she understood why it would be a curse to forget it.


End file.
